Reports of My Death Are Greatly Exaggerated

I'm not going to die. At least not this week. At least not of any anticipated causes.

I went to my doc appointment on Monday and got a nice extra birthday present. The lump in my ribcage is not serious. Dr. J examined it and explained it's fairly common, a fat deposit, and it isn't likely to grow much bigger and doesn't have to be removed unless it causes some discomfort. Marie still hasn't heard from her doctor, however. Something that alarming, they ought to get back to the patient as fast as possible.

Stephanie invited me to Thanksgiving dinner but I can't really go: I have to work the next morning. Only the staff with the most seniority or the fastest draw on the PTO forms manages to wrangle out of post-holiday duty. There will be hundreds of confused Thursday garbage customers calling to complain about their can.

I'm relieved not to die, but when the time comes I hope you'll throw a party and sing the fight song for me. Be sure and serve good snacks. I highly recommend the Martinelli's Grape-Apple Sparkling Cider. It's on sale at Winco, 1.98 a bottle. Very festive. I may walk over and buy a bottle after my nap.

I forget who, it may have been George Burns or Rodney Dangerfield, but there was a comedian who used to say, "I'm at a wonderful time in my life. I was always taught to respect my elders, and now I'm so old I don't have to respect anybody."

The great thing about being old is, I can buy a bottle of Sparkling Grape-Apple Cider whenever I want, and drink the whole thing from the bottle, and no one can tell me "don't touch that, it's for thanksgiving." All anyone would say is, "Leave him alone. He's old."

And Marie says I look damn good for 53. And that's good enough for me.